I hadn’t opened Sully’s gift. I sat in the car outside the lighthouse, too afraid to get out of the car and go inside, knowing that he must have heard me pull up. I held the small present he’d left for me in my hands, turning it over and over, worrying the corners of the paper under my shaking hands. I was scared. What if it was something and nothing? A pair of socks? A gift certificate to a bookstore? The box was the wrong size and shape to be either of those things, but the thought was still there. What if it was a throw away gift that meant nothing? Was that worse than him giving me something that meant too much? Jewelry? Something personal and handmade like he’d given to the children? Either way, I was screwed.
The passenger door to the car opened all of a sudden, scaring the crap out of me. I’d been staring so intently down at the gift that I hadn’t noticed Sully leave the lighthouse and make his way over to the car. His cheeks were flushed red from the cold, and his wavy hair was swept back out of his face. Still the handsomest man I’d ever seen.
He climbed up into the car and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. Not looking at me, he slammed the door closed and then stared straight ahead out of the windshield. Neither of us said anything at first. And then, “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I admitted. “The children loved their gifts. Thank you.”
Sully shrugged, blowing onto his hands. “No big deal.” He was trying to pretend that it wasn’t, but both he and I knew how much effort he’d put into those gifts. How long they would have taken him to make—hours and hours. Both gifts were labors of love. It really was a big deal. “It smells like Christmas threw up in here,” Sully observed.
It really did. I’d set aside a plate of food for him when we’d dished up dinner without really thinking about it. A flask of mulled wine leaked cinnamon and spice smells into the car, which mingled with the scent of turkey, stuffing and gravy to produce an undeniably festive oratory assault.
“If you don’t want the food I can always take it home with me.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you for hours. I’m starving.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
Sully glanced sideways at me, mouth open in a smile. “There’s this part in The Sound of Music, where Maria’s trying to deny her true feelings for the stuffy old Von Trapp bastard. He’s fallen down some stairs or some shit, and everyone thinks she won’t go to him, that she’ll let him figure out his shit for himself or whatever because he’s been a grade A cunt to her, but then at the end of the film, just as the Nazis are about to cart old Von Trapp off to Auschwitz, Maria shows up with a machine gun and rescues his ass. Well, she tries to rescue him and gets herself captured in the process, so he actually has to save her in the end, but it all works out.”
I just look at him blankly. “Have you ever actually seen The Sound of Music, Sully?”
“Of course I have. Everyone’s seen The Sound of Music.”
“I think you might be confusing it with a few other movies.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, nodding. “There’s a very strong possibility that you’re right there.”
I slapped my hand over my heart, feigning shock. “My god. Did Sully Fletcher just admit I might be right about something?”
He laughed, scathing and amused all at once. “Don’t push your luck, Lang. Drive me somewhere, will you? I’m so fucking sick of looking at this lighthouse.”
“It’s dark.”
“I know. That’s the best part.”
He was a strange, strange man. I drove with the headlights turned off, winding my way down narrow single track roads, curving along the coastline until I reached a wide turnout point at the edge of a cliff face, overlooking the ocean.
“Get out and sit with me,” Sully commanded. He reached through to the back seat, pulling a face—his ribs were obviously still a little twingy, despite the four-week period he’d had to recover—and picked up the bag with the food and mulled wine in it. He got out of the car without saying another word and walked off into the dark.
I waited a second. It was freezing cold out there, and he’d only just recovered from a severe bout of hypothermia. The man really was crazy. Certifiable. Still, no point sitting in the car. He seemed pretty determined when he got out and walked off. I had very little choice but to get out and follow after him.
The ocean was roaring, crashing into the cliff face, spitting icy flecks of salt water up at the land. I found Sully leaning against a flat ledge of rock, brushing snow off it with his bare hands.
“Sit down.” He pointed at the bare rock, eyes set, firm, daring me to deny him.
I sat. He joined me, leg pressed up against mine, and started handing me things out of the bag I’d packed at home: turkey; potatoes in tin foil; yams; a small container of gravy, lid screwed on tight.
“I didn’t bring any paper plates or forks. I assumed we’d be eating at your place. We can’t eat out of the tinfoil, Sully.”
“Why the hell not?” He picked up a piece of candied yam and dipped it into the tub of gravy, then popped it into his mouth, flashing me a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “You know they’re probably gonna find our bodies here in four days’ time, frozen to this rock, right?” My ass was already numb.